He's So Lucky (He's A Star)
by digthewriter
Summary: Potter has everything he could ever ask for. The perfect life. Then why does he look so sad when no one else is looking? Except for Draco, because Draco's always looking.
1. Chapter 1

**He's So Lucky(He's A Star)**

* * *

 **Summary:** Potter has everything he could ever ask for. The perfect life. Then why does he look so sad when no one else is looking? Except for Draco, because Draco's _always_ looking.

 **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Warning(s):** First person point of view. Infidelity implied ( _not_ between Harry/Draco). In the closet-scenario. Pining. Clueless and obviously in love (with each other) characters. Random references to Muggle technology. Slightly creepy/stalkery Draco

* * *

A Floo call at seven in the morning on a Saturday was never a good sign, but this time I didn't really mind. "Here we go," I mumbled to myself as I dragged myself off the bed and made my way to the Floo network.

Pansy, of course.

"Draco, I'll need you to cover for Jones tonight."

"Again?" I said with as much disdain I could muster. I _tried_ not to roll my eyes as well, because that would possibly be a bit much and Pansy would see right through it.

"I know you just got back last night, but Jones's wife just went into labour and well—you know the subject better than anyone else."

This time I rolled my eyes. _The subject_.

"Luna is going in with you. She'll cover the questions, per usual, just keep your eyes open," Pansy said. It was her usual phrase before she handed off any assignments. "Keep your eyes open." As if one can take a photograph with their eyes closed.

"Very well then," I said, since I already knew what was going to happen. I had planned this all along, of course. The thing about being the strategic photographer to an investigative reporter was all about planning. I knew the gala was tonight, and of course, I couldn't ask to be assigned to it. If I had, Pansy would surely question it, and I just didn't have the time to go through _that_ again. She always gave my _interest_ a name I didn't like.

Thus, I'd done the next best thing. I'd primped Jones up for it. I knew there was an eighty seven percent probability his wife would have gone into labour sometime this weekend. If she did then the luck and the assignment would be mine. Everyone wanted to cover the Potter gala, but after the assignments were handed out, you couldn't switch them except for emergencies.

And we definitely had an emergency on our hands.

"Why does it have to be Lovegood?"

Pansy huffed into the fire. "Because the Potters don't trust anyone else. And if you go with Luna, then they won't question your presence, either. They had to do that in the past, remember? She's the best bet for us getting in."

"This isn't an investigative piece," I said, just to remind her I highly doubted _I_ would catch Potter's trousers down to his knees while some twat settled herself on her knees in-between his legs. He was _Saint Potter_ , after all, and he and the Weaslette were going on five years of marital bliss.

"Draco, you bloody well know you're the only one who has the night off. You keep a weird schedule, Merlin only knows why, and you're always the only one available to help us out in a pinch. It's four hours of work and it pays double. I don't have to tell you the Potter circle is tough to get into and their stories sell the most copies!"

I could feel Pansy's anger radiating off her and travelling through the Floo. I decided to not play _that_ hard to get. I needed the money. Sure. "If it pays double, then I want a cut into the profit of the sales."

"Naturally," she said, as if she hadn't expected anything else.

Good.

—

Lovegood arrived at exactly half seven. I was waiting in the kitchen fixing tea, when she'd called. She was delighted I remembered her Jasmine tea with the natural herb sweetener as opposed to conventional sugar. I had to hand it to her, the woman knew her herbs, Nargles or not.

She was also the expert on the Potters.

The Potters, Potter and the She-Weasel, had been married for five years now. They'd gotten married shortly after the war, and the world had been waiting for them to start procreating since then. Everyone knew of Potter's longing for a family, if they didn't, they clearly didn't read his interviews very well. All he'd ever talked about was how wonderful the Weasleys had been and all he'd ever wanted was a family of his own. Every time I'd see Weasley-Potter in Diagon Alley, I expected her to start showing the baby bump; instead, she'd continued her Quidditch career to flourishing heights, and Potter was moving up the ranks at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

They were a perfect couple. Minus the toddlers.

It was infuriating really.

Not that they were such a perfect couple, but the fact that even though Potter had everything he could have ever dreamed of, he still looked _miserable_. It was the same look he had when he was picked for the Triwizard tournament. He was the bloody star, and he still had the audacity to look sad about it.

What was up his arse, anyway?

It was really why I took these jobs. I wanted to capture the moment where Potter went from smiling and shaking hands to looking like he was at a funeral. It was remarkable at how quickly he could turn the charade on and off.

Of course, he thought no one was looking when his smile would falter. But I was there. I was _always_ there. I had in my possessions hundreds of pictures of Potter, looping to where he smiled and kissed his wife on the cheek, then turn around and looked longingly out of the window or at a door. Was he wondering if he could make his escape? Did he want to know what else was out there?

The only time his laughing and smiling seemed real was when he was playing with the Granger-Weasley children. Seriously, no one else _noticed_ this man was _aching_ for that? I've found myself constantly wondering why the Weasley-Potter refused to give him a child. Perhaps her Quidditch career was very important to her, then why hadn't they just adopted?

Potter practically grew up in foster care. He donated time and money to orphanages all the time. Surely, no one would bat an eye, if he just adopted. Would they?

"You're doing it again," Lovegood said, placing her empty teacup on the kitchen counter.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking hard about the assignment," she said. I opened my mouth to tell her that _that_ was not what I was doing, when she raised her hand and continued talking. "This isn't an investigation. It's supposed to be fun! Isn't it why you're always setting it up so you can attend?"

"I'm not—"

The raised hand again. I knew there was no use in trying to reason with her.

"So have you got it?" she asked, and I arched an eyebrow. "Your secret mini camera?"

"My what?" How could she know?

"You always have your big camera to take pictures of all the politicians and dignitaries, and then you have your spy camera. Don't think I haven't noticed."

I was speechless; however, I should have known she would notice something one day. She was a bloody sharp-eyed investigator. Pansy and Patil had trained her. The only ones who knew about my mini cameras were the reporters I went on field trips with, and they'd signed a nondisclosure agreement.

"You don't think anyone watches you when you watch Harry?"

I struggled. _Again_. "I—" Merlin, what in the bloody hell was this woman doing to me?

"It's really why I take you, you know." She was on again and I had no idea what she was talking about. "To these parties. I could say no to Pansy. Attend them myself and just write an article about it. Pictures aren't _required_. But, you have fun, too. And I think you see more than anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for _someone_ to see it."

"Lovegood, I truly have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"Of course not. Are you ready?" Then she turned around and waltzed out of the kitchen as if we hadn't just had the most bizarre conversation in the universe. This included the time when she was locked up in my parents' cellar, and she'd sputter—according to Aunt Bellatrix—utter nonsense. Even when she was being tortured.

Okay, I didn't want to think about that.

—

We were at the gates of the Weasley Mansion right on time. Most of the guests hadn't arrived, and it was the perfect opportunity for Lovegood to have a sit down with the Potters, while I took some pictures.

The Weasley Mansion, formerly known as the Burrow, was built in 2001. It'd turned out that George Weasley's shop really took off after the war, and the first thing the brothers did with their surplus earnings was to build their parents a better home.

Of course, I'd sold the manor by then. Father was in Azkaban and Mother had moved to France for good. Most of the proceeds from the manor sales were donated to charity—nameless of course—including an anonymous donation made towards the Fred Weasley Foundation.

Naturally, Pansy thought I'd gone crazy. I told her if anyone had asked, she could just tell them that the donations were made by her. She'd scowled at me and nearly slapped my face off. So we decided to spread the rumour about the Ministry about how the Ministry had sold the manor and depleted all my funds. The rumours were never confirmed, of course, and I was never available for comment.

Things have a way of working out for you sometimes, when you work with journalists (and when your best friend is the editor of a newspaper that is the number one competition of _The Daily Prophet_ ). _I_ was nothing but a humble photographer.

Mrs Weasley greeted us at the door. She took our coats—why there wasn't a coat checker, I didn't know—and led us to the small sitting room. I'd been there a few times before. The fireplace made the room cosy, and the dark coloured walls really brought in the feeling of how this room was off limit to most guests. This was most certainly a _family only_ room.

The pictures of all the Weasley kids were scattered about the walls. It was too bad they wouldn't let me take any photos of anything besides the Potters while they were being interviewed by Lovegood—technically, I still took them—I just couldn't sell them.

That really was a shame.

Potter watched me as I moved about the room. He probably hadn't realised I knew he was watching me, but I did. Every time Weasley-Potter would place her hand on his knee, his attention would divert back to the interview. _That_ was when I took the pictures for the show; when he was looking at Lovegood, his wife's hand on his knee, and his fake smile on. I felt him flinch with every flash, and my "spy camera," as Lovegood had called it, captured what was there when I'd looked away.

When the interview was winding down, I'd really lost interest after Weasley-Potter had stopped talking about Quidditch; I entered the main hall and mingled with the guests. It wasn't always easy; to be a former Death Eater, and then become a strategic photographer, no one wanted me around. But after I'd covered a few Potter parties and my name was attached with each article, _Photographs courtesy of Draco Malfoy, staff-photographer for The Oracle_ , wizards everywhere had stopped being contemptuous. The only ones that still disliked me were the ones I'd helped correspond an exposé on.

"Over here, Draco," Hannah Longbottom said as she gestured for me towards her and her husband. "Make sure to send me a copy!" she'd always say, as if I could ever forget. She'd only asked me about a thousand times. I shouldn't complain about her, though, she was the only one who voluntarily paid me for them. Bless her Hufflepuff heart.

Neville Longbottom on the other hand, would only nod once at me and walk away given the first opportunity. You could be the second Saviour of the wizarding world, but still be awkward around your former bully from your early teen years. I supposed there were _some_ things I could never live down.

"Malfoy, when are you going to post pictures of us in your newspaper?" Goldstein wrapped an arm around his new boyfriend and grinned. _Us?_ I wondered. I'd just met this new bloke.

I took a few shots of them and shrugged. "I don't actually get to decide what goes in _The Oracle_. I just give them what I have." I winked at Goldstein's boyfriend who immediately blushed, and I took a few more solo pictures of him. I decided to make sure Pansy put one of those in Lovegood's article covering the shindig.

Business as usual.

The Potter party was, as always, a success. Although, I still hadn't figured out what was the occasion for the festivity. My eyes, per usual, started searching for Potter. He was standing in a corner, attempting to look pensive. Perhaps he was to make a speech. I had half a mind to walk up to him and make small talk, but changed my mind. The remnants of my investigative career took over, and I decided to scout for Weasley-Potter. Where was she? Why wasn't she in the room? I'd spotted Granger, Weasley, their children, and Mr and Mrs Weasley, along with the rest of the clan. Except for Potter's wife. She was _deliberately_ not in the room.

Was this it? Was this the big announcement? Was she pregnant? It couldn't be, because, she would have told Lovegood about it, and I was there in the room the entire time. She'd talked about going to China for the Quidditch World Tournament—I remembered, because I wanted to ask Lovegood if she could get me tickets...

I looked at Potter again who was searching for something in the room. Was he looking for her, too? Our gazes caught, and then he quickly looked away. Something was _definitely_ dodgy.

"Lovegood, I'm going to the loo," I whispered in her ear and waited for her to acknowledge it. She nodded politely and walked away from me. I wondered if she knew I was really up to something else.

What was it she'd said earlier? _I think you see more than anyone else. Maybe he's waiting for_ someone _to see it._

I adjusted the strap of my main camera and looped it around my neck so it'd hang sideways. Then I adjusted the buttons on my robes—the ones with the mini camera—and decided to make my way upstairs. I looked at Potter first, he was busy in a conversation with Charlie Weasley; then I looked around the room, everyone seemed to be busy with each other, so I sprinted up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, until I reached the third level.

I knew where the loo was, since I'd been to the house several times. So I went the opposite way. Taking a left when I should have taken a right. Opening doors I knew were bedrooms. Finally, I heard something. I came to a screeching halt and walked _very_ quietly toward the third-floor balcony.

"Just one more." A man's voice.

"I can't. I've already been up here for too long!" Weasley-Potter's voice.

"Come on, Gin. I never even get to see you anymore," the man said, and then it was quiet. The noise that followed I could tell were rustling of clothes, then a slight moan.

 _You are joking_! I thought immediately. All of a sudden I had some _serious_ respect for Weasley-Potter. To have an affair, was one thing, but to fool around with your lover while your husband was in the same house took a level of audacity and astute I didn't think a Gryffindor possessed.

"No. Wait. Stop. I _can't_..." Weasley-Potter panted. "Corm..."

The man moaned.

 _Corm_? If I weren't so good at stealth, I probably would have fallen on the floor with shock. Was it Cormac McLaggen? Did I see him at the party? I couldn't remember. At the moment, I couldn't do anything. Then I heard them moving. They were leaving the balcony and if I didn't move, they would have seen me.

I ran, as quietly as possible, to the end of the hall before I Disapparated to the outside of the house. No one had seen me go up the stairs, so if I walked back into the mansion through the front door, it wouldn't be a big deal. I hoped.

I stood outside the mansion for a good minute wrapping my brain around what I'd just discovered. Ginny Weasley-Potter played for the Harpies, Cormac McLaggen was a Chaser for the Black Swords. They were on opposing Quidditch teams. _And they were fucking_?

I took a deep sigh and went to open the front door; Lovegood caught my gaze. She immediately walked up to me.

"We're leaving," she said.

"Why?"

"I think we have what we need and the party is starting to wind down," she said. She seemed rather adamant about leaving so naturally, I had to stand my ground.

"I haven't even had a drink yet," I argued.

"You can't drink at the job."

"But you said I'm off the clock now. So now I _can_ have a drink. I won't take any more pictures for _The Oracle_. I'll even give you the film."

She rolled her eyes. Something I haven't seen her do too much of. The Nargles might have finally got her, then. "Fine," she said, sounding exasperated.

Honestly, though. What did she expect me to do? She wanted me to find out about the affair, then what? Did she think I would just go babbling about it to Potter or some other gossip publication? Did she want me to spill the beans to her?

"I _suppose_ I can have a glass of wine, as well."

I grinned at her and she took my arm as we made our way to the bar.

Before we left, I did my obligation to inform the Potters that I'd be sending them the pictures of the party first before they are sent off to my editor. Needless to say, I wouldn't show them the pictures I'd taken for my own _interests_.

—

For the next several nights, I couldn't sleep, and I didn't have any assignments for the week. After the Potter party, I'd asked Pansy if I could take the week off. I only had a couple of gigs lined up anyway, and she'd easily managed to give them away.

"Did something happen at the party?" she asked.

"No," I lied.

"Are you sure, because, Luna's acting a bit off too."

"She's always acting a bit off. It's not saying much."

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"You can count on it," I lied. Again.

"Who is that young bloke you want me to include in the background?" she asked, and I was glad she'd changed the subject.

"Goldstein's new boyfriend, but I don't think it'll last very long."

"You're hoping he'll come to you for comfort, then?" Her voice had a bit of tease in it, and I _finally_ sighed with relief. She'd dropped the other matter entirely.

Then, it was all business.

"What else do you have for me?"

"The only stories we have coming in right now are celebrity gossip. The P.I. work is also at a season low."

The "P.I. work" was something Pansy and I had started on the side a year after she'd founded _The Oracle_. When the reporters weren't out investigating unsolved crimes or corruption in the political system, they did freelance work on tips that anonymous wizards owled. The tips included anything from "I think my neighbour is growing illegal herbs in her basement," to "The new shop in Diagon Alley is actually a front for Dark Artefact trading." These were tips the Aurors dismissed because they didn't have the proper warrants to inquire into, and the reporters Pansy had hired were good at talking their way into anything. I had seen this first hand, since I was always there to take the pictures. At first, they'd seen my camera and sent us away, so I started to rely more and more on the mini cameras I planted on the reporter themselves or on my clothing.

The P.I. work brought in extra cash for _The Oracle_ employees, because Pansy was able to dangle this information in front of the Aurors and the Ministry paid good price for them. In the beginning, the Ministry hadn't taken our offer to help seriously, so Pansy had decided we'd just print the information we found as news reports. Based on the allegations published in _The Oracle_ , the Aurors started their raids. Eventually, the culprits realised the Aurors were following the news stories, and they'd quickly changed their tactics. Because of _that_ , the Ministry representative came rushing to HQ whenever we had something for them.

Pansy's "fee" for supplying the information was enough to not only pay the reporter, the photographer, but also provide enough security so our lives were never in any real danger from those we exposed.

It was also one of the reasons I was allowed to come and go freely at all the Potter-Weasley festivities. They trusted Lovegood, and since she worked for _The Oracle_ , in turn, they trusted me with their affairs. _Affairs_.

No wonder Potter looked so sad.

—

At the next staff meeting, the bids were up for the latest leads. I usually bid on anything that required travel and an opportunity to try my new camera equipment. The week I'd been off, I had picked up the habit of tweaking them again. I'd continued experimenting on how much I could shrink a lens but still get clear enough pictures. The true magic was sending the image captured to the tiny film and not destroying the quality. Black and white pictures were turning out to be better quality than the coloured ones, and I needed to conduct more tests in different lighting.

I was all set to raise my hand to whatever story Patil had signed up for, she really was as cutthroat as they came, when Lovegood announced _she_ was covering the Charlie Weasley engagement party.

Really, I should have known better. Really, I should not have allowed myself to get sucked back into the lives of Harry Potter and everyone else who was supposedly on the right side of the war. If being in journalism had taught me anything, it was the fact that there was no such thing as right or wrong. It was the lucky, the unfortunate, the arseholes, those that followed them, and those that had no choice.

"Great, so who wants to volunteer to partner up with Luna?" Pansy said and I, unfortunately and almost mechanically raised my hand. "Draco?" She looked a bit taken back.

Our group was small. We were nine reporters and five photographers, so handling two or three jobs at a time wasn't new to any of us. I used this to my advantage. "I really need the money," I said. "I can schedule my time with Patil or anyone else, so we don't clash."

The pictures we sold to other gossip magazines from celebrity parties almost always paid more than double and, fortunately for me, my candid moments were quite popular, too. Of course, none of the other photographers knew why I really wanted it, and so I knew for certain, me voluntarily offering to do the job, could really be taken as a financial need.

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," Pansy said, after she closed the office door behind her and had me alone in her office .

"Why?" I asked. She never complained before.

"You _just_ got back from an assignment at one of their parties...I just.. I don't trust this, Draco."

"The last time you told me that I should've taken the job, _because_ it paid double. And now when I'm telling you that I need the money—"

"You and I both know you don't _need_ the money."

I _knew_ that I should have played the game as before. I knew that I should have let the opportunity fall in my lap, so I had no idea why I'd made a show for it. Why did I pick the assignment? If I had more time, I would have contemplated what my unconscious mind was trying to do until my face turned blue, but I had to think fast because Pansy was waiting for me to respond.

"Listen..." I drawled. "There's something there. And it's _big_. I just—Lovegood thinks that I should investigate. I don't want to tell you anything about it, just in case there's nothing there. And you know, when I have something...you'll be the first to know."

"So what?" She raised her perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "You're going to write an exposé on the Potters?"

I laughed. "No. I'll let Lovegood do it. I just take the pictures."

The response seemed good enough for her. For the moment, anyway. I felt guilty for lying to my best friend _and_ my boss about how I'd practically caught the Saviour's wife blowing another man, but what would Pansy even do with that information? The moment we became a tabloid newspaper, our careers were over. The moment we reported on a prestigious Auror, a scandal, the Ministry would shut us down. If I ruined a Quidditch career, well then, how would I get tickets to the Quidditch World Cup?

If Pansy didn't know, it was best. Probably.

—

Charlie Weasley's engagement party wasn't at the Weasley Mansion; it wasn't even in England. Lovegood and I took the Portkey to Trondheim where the man's boyfriend, now fiancé, was from. They had met while Torbjørn and Charlie were interning as Assistant Dragon Tamers. According to Mrs Weasley, Charlie was quite the Casanova, but when he'd met Torbjørn, it was like there was no going back.

I would have rolled my eyes at the sentiment, but then I saw him and realised that Torbjørn was everything a man could want and more. He was tall with unusually dark hair, which made his pale skin glow. His eyes were almost amber; I had no idea Norwegian men could have amber eyes. He looked like he could beat Viktor Krum at a wrestling match (something I'd pay to see), but was soft-spoken and so polite that the women swooned when he'd enter a room. Okay, maybe it wasn't just the women.

On top of everything else, Potter was _staring_ at him.

I kept my focus on the couple as I clicked away, but the camera on the button of my sleeve was taking pictures of Potter. _This_ was something I was going to have to investigate on my own.

These were all very interesting discoveries. Weasley-Potter was shagging Cormac McLaggen, Potter was gawking at Charlie Weasley's fiancé, a man, and Granger and her husband were so absorbed in their own lives that they hadn't even noticed.

And Lovegood? She seemed to know more than she was letting on. I always had a sort of respect for all the Ravenclaw women.

Don't ever let me tell Pansy that, though.

"Fun party," I said, when I finally decided to walk up to Potter and strike a conversation. In the handful of times that I'd attended the Potter parties, I'd kept my distance. I never had a reason to talk to him. Now I did.

"Yeah, it's great," Potter replied, without even giving me a second glance.

I raised my arm to run a hand through my hair, but I really was just trying to take close up pictures of Potter from my hidden camera. It helped that he didn't regard me. If you were close enough, you could see that the black button looking thing on my sleeve wasn't a button, but thankfully, Torbjørn was in the room.

"Handsome bloke," I said.

"What?" Potter looked like he'd just been jerked awake.

"Torbjørn Lars."

"Oh, right," he said, looking back towards the rest of the room. His eyes didn't settle on anything particular this time.

"Is that your type?" I asked, because really, I suppose I was trying to get kicked out of the party. I could tell Pansy I did it because if Potter had created a scene, then some guest would want to sell an interview to _The Oracle_ of what they'd saw, and that wouldn't breach the contract of only Lovegood interviewing the Potters.

Of course that would also mean that _The Oracle_ no longer had the privilege of writing about the Saviour and his extended family. I wasn't really sure why I was playing out the entire scenario in my head, except, I just really wanted to see Potter snap.

I'd always been a creature of habit.

Unfortunately, Potter didn't react. I saw a nerve pulsating on the side of his neck and that was the only noticeable sign that he was struggling to stay composed.

Needless to say, I pushed some more. "I see McLaggen wasn't invited tonight."

Potter's head jerked towards me, and he _glared_ with his glowing green eyes under his dark lashes and my heart had just picked up speed. Was he going to hit me? Punch me in the face or get me in the gut? I had to react fast. Jump back the moment I'd see Potter's right arm move. Unless he had developed a left hook that I didn't know about.

No, Potter was useless with his left arm.

He looked away from me, leaned back against the wall, and took a deep sigh. "He's at Quidditch practice. The Black Swords started a few weeks earlier than the rest of the teams." His tone was ridiculously nonchalant, as if he was discussing the score from last night's game, and not talking about his wife's lover.

"So, you know?" was all I could say. I'd thought that I'd be dancing with joy at seeing Potter's reaction, but to see him like this, to see him emotionally maimed when discussing an affair of someone he'd promised to spend the rest of his life with, was unnatural.

"And so do you," he said.

"Why are you not freaking out that I know?"

"Well, I reckon you've known for some time. And if you have, and you haven't sold the story to a tabloid—nor had your own paper publish the rumours—it tells me that you don't plan on telling anyone."

"What if I was just waiting for a quote from you?" I asked, as if I was a proper journalist and not just a photographer.

Potter took a deep sigh. I could tell that he was selecting his words carefully. I had records of him with that look. Once I'd caught him this way after one of the Weasley cousins had asked when they were planning on having a family.

It was a look that said: _How do I put this politely, so you wouldn't punch me in the face_? Or at least that's what _I_ called the look.

"Do you really want to go down in history as the bearer of bad news?" Potter asked, and I didn't understand at first. "Former Death Eater turned Tabloid Photographer?"

"I'm not a _Tabloid Photographer_!"

"Would it really matter to them?" Potter gestured toward the crowd then looked at me intently, and I shivered. "You'll be the one who uncovered the faults of a Quidditch star, destroyed her marriage, broke her family's heart. Made the Saviour, me, look like a fool."

"Your choices in outfits do that for you on their own," I retorted. It was just so natural to insult him. It felt normal.

Potter snorted and shook his head before he turned and looked away again.

"Why stay?" I asked, leaning back against the wall as well. I handed my camera to one of the teenagers that were running around, and she looked delighted and sprinted to take some pictures. I considered myself to be officially _off duty_.

Potter looked down on the floor and just stared. It was the look I'd seen before. The look Potter had when he thought no one was looking. The _heartbroken_ look. "She isn't ready to tell the family."

"Wait! She knows that you're aware of her affair?" I jumped on my feet so fast, I gave Potter a start.

"She's not having an affair. I know they're together. I know..." Potter ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "It's not cheating."

I scowled at him. "She's fucking another man, Potter," I said, as softly as possible.

"I know."

"Are you in an open relationship?" If they were, I could easily tell that Potter was getting the short end of the stick. No man looked like that if he had the freedom to fuck whoever he wanted.

"Not exactly." He turned to look at me again. "We don't sleep together. We haven't slept together in several years. McLaggen...that's her boyfriend. They're in love. I think...he even wants to marry her. She's just not ready."

Not ready for what, I wondered. To settle down with another man or to break the news to the family that she's wasn't as perfect as the world portrayed her? "And you?" I focused my attention back on Potter.

"What about me?"

"Do _you_ have a boyfriend?"

Potter snorted again. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he asked, but he didn't sound angry, hurt, or offended. "Who in this bloody wizarding world would fuck me and keep it a secret?"

That was a good point. I wanted to ask more questions, but Potter looked a bit taken aback by his reaction. Most likely because he realised that he was discussing such intimate details with me at such a public place. It was clear that either no one listened to him when he talked about it before or no one cared. Which, all in all, surprised me even more given he was such a public figure.

Nevertheless, I decided to press him. "There's no one that you fancy? Didn't fancy anyone before you'd met Weasley? What about Chang?"

Potter looked at me for a good minute. He was _really_ contemplating the next set of words I could tell. "That won't do it for me."

Ah. Potter hadn't flinched at the boyfriend comment. Of course. "What about the happy couple?" I asked tilting my head towards the centre of the room. "I'm sure they'll be understanding and could even help you out."

Potter shrugged. "Feels like I'll be breaking my promise to Ginny by telling someone in the family."

"You know, just because they call you Saint Potter doesn't actually mean you have to _be_ a saint, Potter."

"Only you've ever called me that."

Another good point.

"What about a Muggle?"

"I tried that," he said, looking away again.

"And?" I probed when he quieted down after sharing that bit of information.

"Didn't work out for several reasons. It's hard to explain that you work for Magical Law Enforcement when you show up with cuts and bruises on your dates. Muggleborns could still see me around town. And..."

"And what?"

"Harry we're going to cut the cake!" Mrs Weasley came rushing towards us, interrupting us with promises of sweets. I could let that slide. I was starting to get hungry. I'd missed the buffet as I was walking around taking pictures. Speaking of, I needed to find that kid with my camera. I'd replaced the roll of film before I'd handed it to her, but still, I wanted my camera back in one piece.

"Be right there," Potter told her, and she happily rushed off.

"And what?" I asked jumping back into the conversation.

"There's cake," Potter said.

"You're avoiding," I replied.

"Malfoy, I just...I don't want to get into it right now. Can we just drop it?"

"Fine." I crossed my arms and stared down at him as he did the same. I arched an eyebrow. "There's no one else. No one else that you liked, lusted after, always wanted to shag, or obsessed over?"

Potter's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat before looking away again. "They're—they're expecting me," he said and walked away.

I didn't need to be told twice that I'd hit the nail on the head. Potter fancied someone. He clearly did. He just didn't want to tell me who it was. I wondered why, though. He'd confessed the deep-rooted secrets of his failed marriage to me, came out as _obviously_ gay—not even bisexual—in all of five minutes, but wouldn't tell me who he wanted to shag? Even secretly? Even if that man was straight, married, had children, and lived in another country?

It was probably Torbjørn.

—

The cake was out of this world. It was in the shape of a dragon and every time someone cut through it for a piece, it snorted fire, which was really confetti. That's where I found the kid with my camera, she was taking pictures of people cutting the cake. At least now I knew that the pictures were going to be somewhat relevant. I always had fantastic instincts.

She thanked me for lending her my camera and asked to take a picture together. I hesitated. I didn't like being on camera, it was pretty much why I worked behind it. On top of that, Potter of all people, volunteered to take our picture.

Lovegood approached me as I was finishing up my piece of cake and reminded me that it was time to take the Portkey back to England. Mrs Weasley insisted that we spend the night. "It's so late. Stay here, and have breakfast with the family in the morning!" she insisted.

I don't know why, nor did I want to know why, I looked around the room searching for Potter. Maybe I wanted to see his reaction to the possibility that I was going to stay. I was curious to see what Potter looked like when he'd just woken up in the morning. Did he wear pyjamas to the breakfast table or dress properly? Knowing how the Weasleys operated, there probably wasn't any formality to breakfast, anyway.

Nevertheless, Potter was nowhere to be seen, and I told Lovegood that it'd be better if we left. Besides, the shrinking magic on the camera lens on my clothing had a time limit. I wouldn't have been able re-shrink them without damaging the film quality.

As always, I promised the Weasleys that I'd send them copies of the pictures before I gave them to my editor to publish with the article, and the ones we would be allowed to sell to other magazines.

Again, the ones I'd taken of Potter's expressions, I was going to keep for myself.

—

The next morning, Pansy Flooed first thing.

"How was the party?" she asked.

"Good morning to you, too, Pansy. How are you doing today?" I retorted.

"Draco, do you want me to come by and enter your darkroom?"

"No," I said immediately. Potter's pictures were all over the room, and I didn't want her to find them.

"Fine. Then, how was the party?"

"It was fine."

"Do anything interesting?"

"I took a picture with a few of the guests. Actually, Potter took one. Of me, I mean. Also the cake was brilliant."

"Potter took a picture of you?"

"Yes."

"Did the two of you talk?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

I shrugged. "His wife's Quidditch career." It wasn't a lie. Not technically.

"Fascinating."

"Not really. If you ask me she's being rather selfish." _Shite, why did I just say that_?

"Why?" Even via the weak Floo connection, and me being half-awake, I _felt_ the arch of the eyebrow Pansy had.

"I don't know. Just get the feeling. I don't think she's making him happy."

"And who _would_ make him happy?"

I shrugged again. "Fuck if I know."

Pansy sighed, and I knew that she wasn't saying what she was really thinking. But I just didn't have the energy to argue with her. I hadn't even had my morning coffee yet.

"I'm going to owl them the pictures shortly. So, I'll get back to you as soon as I get them."

"Very well, then," she said. Seriously, what was wrong with her? "Patil wants to touch base with you about the museum heist."

"What about it?"

"She thinks it was an inside job. She wants to go to the curator's home and interview him. So she'll need you—since Jones isn't exactly discreet."

"Very well then," I said, mimicking her from earlier. She had something on her mind, but she wouldn't just say it, and I wasn't going to ask her.


	2. Chapter 2

**He's So Lucky (He's A Star) - Part II**

* * *

Much to my surprise, the owl that I'd sent to the Weasleys returned with a note from Potter. Almost all of the pictures I'd sent over were approved.

 _They look great. Thanks for doing such a great job with them_. That was weird. It wasn't exactly a favour I did them. _Do you want to get together for coffee sometime_?

Was I still asleep? Did Potter just ask me out for coffee? Was it a date? _Get real, Draco_.

 _Why_? — I wrote back immediately. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I figured that if I were a good reporter, I would have agreed right away. But, I never really was my best when it came to dealing with Potter.

 _You're the only person that knows my secret. I could use a friend_.

"Too little, too late," I wanted to write back, but refrained. I just somewhat agreed.

 _I've got a project that's going to take up most of my time this week and the next_ , I lied. If Patil's instincts were anything to go by, she'd have the curator story as a full-blown article by Thursday, _but I'm usually available in the evenings. Perhaps a pint instead of a coffee_? I added.

Potter's reply came after lunch. _Add chips and I'm sold._

I wasn't sure why I waited for Potter's response before I sent off the pictures to Pansy. She didn't need to know what was happening with me, but if Potter and I were going to socialise in public, then it'd be better if she'd heard it from me rather than read it in _The Daily Prophet_.

I sent the pictures via Brooke, my owl, but not before I gave her a huge treat. She was most likely going to witness Pansy's wrath, and I needed her happy and fed before that happened. I wrote Pansy a note.

 _Attached are the approved pictures for the Weasley engagement. I've even included the one I'm in. Feel free to use it or just frame it and hang it in your office. Whatever tickles your fancy. Oh, and I'm having drinks with Potter this week, just so you know, and I'll be leaving my camera at home_.

—

Patil had Martin Anz, the curator, in her grip in no time. She'd introduced herself to Anz as the museum's insurance representative and claimed she had a few question for him. She had me walk around the man's flat and take pictures with my mini cameras. After our visit, I'd developed the roll and went into the office to show them to her; her research blew me out of the water. She circled all the items of intrigue in the rooms and compared them to the museum pieces which had slowly gone missing.

From the latest heist, which was basically done at night and the man had an alibi for, she discovered he had one of the pieces in his place.

According to her research, the only person who had control over the Security Charms placed on the museum was the curator. He had claimed he was at a restaurant having dinner with friends during the night in question.

Patil and I went to the restaurant, The Hungry Frog, and spoke to the bartender. We had two pints, and she tipped the bartender an extra five Galleons. He claimed to remember Anz. He'd arrived for dinner at half seven, and drank water all night. At around eight o'clock, he'd left through the front door, while his friends were still there. Then, he returned ten minutes later. He did this again at quarter to nine.

Patil asked him why he'd paid so much attention to Anz, and the man shook his head. "You always remember the loud ones," he said, "but more than that, you remember the ones who either tip too much..." He smiled at Patil, "and the ones who tip too little." Then he winked at me.

Evidently, if you tip the bartender _just right_ , he won't give a rat's arse about you.

Most investigative journalists at _The Oracle_ published under a pseudonym. Since Patil had introduced herself as Monica Bhatia to Anz, the insurance representative, he wouldn't have known that the article printed about him was from her, because her assumed name at the newspaper was Annie Desai. I didn't have a problem with the pictures being credited with my real name.

What always surprised me was how these men the reporters inquired about, never gave me a second look. I never had to polyjuice myself, or use any sort of image altering magic. Perhaps because they didn't see a camera in my hand, they just assumed I was harmless.

Five years after the war and they forget who you'd been. If only the entire wizarding world worked this way. But criminals, as I'd learned from an early age, were always too self-centred and nearly all of them thought of themselves as invincible and supreme.

After everything was said and done, I had been right. Patil's article was front story on Thursday's issue. A mere half a week after we'd started. It was either that _The Oracle_ just had the best damn news team in the wizarding world, or criminals were just getting more and more dense.

On Friday evening, I received an owl from Potter.

 _Arrested Anz today, and he gave up all the names of his accomplices. The junior Aurors claim they've retrieved almost all of the stolen items from the Albus Dumbledore Museum. Hermione is excited and wanted me to thank you for your assistance._

I'd nearly forgotten Granger had helped establish the Dumbledore Museum a few years after the war. By forgotten, I meant, never thought about; pretended it didn't exist; barely went to visit. Especially since _my_ wand was the featured piece—and oh yeah—the thieves had left it behind at the museum.

Evidently the wand that destroyed the Dark Lord wasn't worth stealing. Can't say I blamed them.

I continued reading Potter's letter.

 _So now that you've solved the case of the lifetime—it's what the Aurors are calling it here—how about that pint? Ginny's gone on a Quidditch retreat for the weekend, and I've got no other plans. Meet me at Leaky tomorrow night. I'll be there in any event. I hope you can make it_.

Since it was an open invitation, I didn't reply. I determined if I were free on Saturday night, which I was, I'd just stop by. _The Leaky Cauldron_. I shook my head. I'd read in one of Lovegood's articles, evidently, the Leaky was Potter's introduction to the wonderful world of magic and he was attached to it like a toddler was attached to their security blanket. Why couldn't Potter's security blanket be Davios? At least they had a decent enough wine list.

—

Potter was already on his second pint by the time I'd arrived at the Leaky. He hadn't told me the time so I settled on eight o'clock being a good time to arrive, I had no idea Potter would be so parched for beers. I'd never seen him drink at any of the Potter parties, not really. At the Granger-Weasley pregnancy announcement soirée, no alcohol was served. At the Weasley engagement, he sipped on the same glass of champagne for hours.

"Thanks for coming!" Potter said as he gestured at Tom for another round. Only for Potter would the barman come to the table and serve him. Figured.

"Certainly," I replied, unsure of what else I could have said. I had no other plans unless you counted me in the darkroom for hours, and after all my obligations being over and done with, I really didn't want to develop more pictures of—never mind about that.

"You have no idea how good it feels to be able to talk about this," he said. Funny, we hadn't talked about anything. I'd barely had a sip of my lager.

"I'm surprised you haven't shared this with Granger or Weasley," I said. It was something I'd been thinking about for days now. The three of them had been through everything during the war. They'd got caught together and brought to the manor; nearly killed at every twist and turn of the Dark Lord's fancy—and this? Why hadn't Potter just told them his wife wasn't doing it for him anymore. _Or_ his wife was fucking another man.

I didn't care if it was crude, my rules were simple: If it wasn't working out, you broke up with the person, and shouldn't keep lying to everyone else in the world.

Lying only led to bad things. Lying about the wrong thing could send you to Azkaban. Not that Potter would ever be sent to Azkaban. I really needed to shut my mind off.

I took a large gulp of the beer and waited for Potter to respond.

"I told you, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Ginny asked me not to."

"And me?"

"I didn't tell you."

"That's what you're going with?"

"What do you want from me, Malfoy? I didn't tell you Ginny was with McLaggen. You found that out on your own. I have no idea _how_ , since she's told me she's been really careful. I only told you after I determined you weren't going to sell me out. I can't tell my friends, because they'll blame her and no one, really, is to be blamed. We just didn't work."

"Because you're gay." Potter was getting everything twisted up. He should have known that no one would have blamed _anyone_ for him being gay.

"And there's _that_." Potter laughed and finished the last of his pint and gestured for another. I was still on my first and Potter had finished his third.

"Slow down," I said. "I don't want you blundering around drunk while I'm still sober. If you spill all your secrets tonight, what will we discuss the next time?"

"There will be a next time?" Potter asked, his voice slightly perking up.

"I thought you said you needed a friend?"

"I—"

"Or was it just a one-off you wanted to see if I'd actually show?" I hated at how insecure I sounded then. I shouldn't have cared what his answer would have been. But I did.

"I don't want to have meaningless sex with you," Potter said, looking dreadfully serious.

"I didn't mean one-off like sex," I said, rolling my eyes. Evidently, I wasn't Potter's type. Wasn't that a blow to the self-esteem? "A meeting. Like you wanted just to see if I was interested. Maybe you'd meet me once, you would get everything off your chest, and then you could go back to your life in the closet. Wouldn't be the first time I was there for a man who lived in denial."

"I'm not in denial."

"But you're in the closet?"

"Yes. No." Potter groaned. "Malfoy!"

Tom brought over a pitcher and placed it between us before he walked away. Wasn't a bad idea given how Potter was obviously substituting sex with alcohol.

"When did you realise you were gay?" I asked, slightly changing topic, but still getting Potter to talk about it.

"When I kissed Torbjørn," Potter answered and filled my half-full glass with more beer.

If I was actually drinking, I'd have most certainly spit it out. "You did not!"

Potter laughed. "Yeah. I was really drunk, and I was usually sleeping in Charlie's bed at the house. That night, I'd made the wrong turn and instead of going to Ron's room, I'd ended up at Charlie's, still. Anyway, Charlie was out somewhere, and when Torbjørn came out of the shower, he snuggled into bed next to me. I thought it was a dream. He'd placed his arms around me and started kissing me. I don't think he realised it was me, until I mumbled something about Ginny."

Potter stopped to take a sip of his drink and I followed suit. This time, I drank almost the entire pint glass in one go. I was definitely too sober for this.

"Anyway, Torbjørn jumped out of bed, and since I was so drunk, he didn't really blame me. He helped me to the room I was supposed to be in. The next morning when I woke up, I was mortified. We talked about it. He forgave me. We never told Charlie, or anyone, really. He was the one who told me to really think about my sexuality. He said when he'd helped me back to my room, that I was hard and I wanted him to keep kissing me. And other embarrassing things I'd rather not..."

"Did you tell _anyone_?"

"I told Ginny. I mean by then, we were nothing more than just roommates. I told her what had happened, and she said she understood. She wasn't hurt, and we hadn't been working for a long time. I think we stayed together for as long as we did because she was almost always gone. Still, she didn't want to announce a divorce while she was still in the height of her career. We both knew a divorce would get dragged in the papers everywhere and we just—we just don't want any kind of publicity. Not right now, anyway."

We were both silent for a while. I had no idea if I should have just kept asking him questions, or if he was going to willingly share information. Eventually, when we finished off the pint, he turned to ask me a question.

"How did you get involved in _The Oracle_?"

"It was Pansy's idea," I said and turned to get Tom's attention for a refill. The man glared at me in disbelief. "She just got tired of Rita Skeeter and her bullshit news on the former Death Eaters and friends. She said she wanted to do something to get back at her, so she started her own research on her. I don't know how, but she found out about Skeeter's affair with some businessman and sold the news to every tabloid magazine possible."

"I remember that!" Potter said, excitedly. "It was the best piece of news I'd ever read!"

I laughed. "I'll tell her you said that." I waited for Potter to react or cringe, but he just nodded. Maybe I expected him to tell me what we were doing should stay a secret. It really would have been ridiculous, we weren't doing anything.

I continued talking. "Eventually, she got so interested in investigative reporting, and she decided she wanted it as a career. You know, she interned at _The Quibbler_ for six months and learned the ropes from Xenophilius Lovegood. Then she needed me to help her capitalise her own business idea—I sold the manor and gave her everything from it. And as they say, _the rest is history_."

"I still can't believe how you lot achieved so much in such little time."

"Says the man who defeated the Dark Lord time and time again. _As a child_."

Potter grinned triumphantly, and I could tell he was well on his way of getting drunk.

I did the best thing I could; I resumed talking about _The Oracle_. "We didn't want to be any other newspaper, and we most definitely didn't want to be a tabloid magazine, so we printed stories we thought were important. If we continued every day, then our pages would be too thin, full of adverts, and very little content. It's the reason why we only print on Mondays and Thursdays."

"I just thought it was you lot being a bit snobby. Too good to print the news daily."

"If you want daily gossip, go to the _Prophet_ ; if you want daily rants about the unjust system, refer to _The Quibbler_. We're about solving crimes. Speaking up for the underdog. Exposing corruption—why we sell so much."

"And the bit on my family?" Potter asked, and I realised he could raise an eyebrow perfectly well, too.

"Well, we all need some trivial or fluff in our lives. Besides, you and your family were off limits to _all_ gossip magazines—it's why we hired Lovegood."

"We." Potter made a sort of grunting sound. "I didn't realise you were _so_ involved in the day to day business of _The Oracle_."

"I was very much more hands on the first few years, ultimately, I just became more of a silent partner. Pansy runs the show now."

"I have to say I was surprised to find out when Luna started working for the paper. I thought if she was going to continue in journalism, she'd stay at _The Quibbler_."

"She writes for _The Quibbler_ , but it's usually her Nargles jargon. It doesn't pay her as well as _The Oracle_ does. And, she's benefitted us more than any other reporter."

"How's that?"

"The paper flourished because we were the only ones who printed articles on _you_. Lovegood was hired because she was the only one able to get to you. This is what made _The Oracle_ a lead competition with the _Prophet_. Especially when people lined up at newsstands every Monday and Thursday to buy an issue."

Potter thought something over for a moment. "So the Ministry really didn't take all that money from you?" he asked, grinning.

"Did they send you to verify that from me?"

He chuckled before answering. "If they did, I'm sure they know that your answer would be: No comment."

"I didn't realise you'd kept tabs on me," I said; not sure why I was surprised. I'd most certainly kept tabs on him.

"Yes. Well, that's always been sort of been...a problem." He said the last bit in almost a whisper, and I wasn't sure if I'd heard him right. He cleared his throat immediately after and refilled our pint glasses with the other pitcher of beer Tom had brought over.

I was about to tell Potter to slow down. We hadn't even ordered chips yet and we were drinking too fast when I heard the click. It was an all too familiar sound of a roll being inserted and the back shutter being closed. Someone with a camera was near us and was going to take pictures.

I looked at Potter, stern. Wondering if he'd notice my warning. He straightened up immediately and looked around. Thank Merlin for him being an Auror as I was quite sure if it was anyone else, they'd just glare back at me with confusion.

"What is it?" he whispered, pretending to check his pocket watch.

"A camera."

"Oh." Potter seemed to relax. "I thought it was something more serious."

"More serious?" I nearly growled at him. "Potter, you're out in the open with—"

"I go out all the time. They always take pictures of me. Besides, they're not allowed in here, anyway. The moment the flash goes on, someone will kick 'em out."

"You go out with former Death Eaters? With openly gay men? Especially when you're trying to stay in the—"

Potter silenced me with a dismissive hand in the air, then rolled his eyes. "You and Luna are always over at our parties. We could be friends."

"Potter, you're just—"

"What do you want me to do? Get up and go sit in the corner? Pretend like I don't know you? Please, Malfoy." His brows furrowed, and I had the sudden urge to reach over and smooth them. Alright, I was getting drunk, too. "We were at Hogwarts together. I spoke for you at the Trials. You take pictures at our social gatherings and publish them in your newspaper. There's no suspicious activity going on here. Homosexual or otherwise."

I scowled at him, but I didn't have a chance to answer. I heard the first click and then the flash went off. It was behind us, just to my right. Then the man came around and took a picture of us sitting on the bench, side by side. He grinned up and looked at me as if he'd won something significant. My scowled deepened. Not sure why I thought I could destroy him with my mind. If it didn't work on Potter during second year, it sure as hell wasn't going to work now.

Potter saw my face and acted like my reaction was the most exhausting thing ever. "Fine," he grumbled and put his pint glass down. With one slight gesture of his hand, the camera was yanked out of the man's hands and it crashed against the far side wall. _Wandless magic_. Evidently, Potter was perfectly capable of destroying things with his mind. _Fantastic_.

"Hey!" the man shouted, but before anything else could happen—Tom, the Leaky watchman, grabbed the photographer by his wrist and threw him out. I got up and walked up to the wall where the camera had met its maker. It was still somewhat salvageable, so I decided to keep it with me.

"You're taking it home?" Potter asked, sounding amused.

"It's a good quality camera. I can totally fix it." I grinned up at him, and he pouted slightly before he started to drink again. I reached for my sleeve and pointed the button in his direction. For whatever reason, I wanted to capture this moment. Then I joined him back at the table.

"What?" I finally said to him when I couldn't figure out why he was so upset.

"I've never had a camera."

"Never? I thought you grew up in the Muggle world. I thought they are very common in Muggle culture.

"Yeah," Potter drawled. His eyes were slightly glistening, and I found myself thinking that he was an adorable drunk. As long as he didn't vomit on my shoes. "But where I grew up, I never got a present. Not really. Dudley, my cousin, he got all the presents. He got a camera on his eighth birthday. It was a Land camera, I still remember it."

"A Muggle instant camera! I've always wondered about them." Potter looked at me all sceptical. "Potter, my career is the art of taking and processing photographs! Don't you think I've read a book or two in Muggle technology?"

"Did you ever get one?"

I shook my head and looked down at my glass. "No. I thought about venturing out into the Muggle world looking for them, but they aren't exactly so readily available now. I'd have to go to an antique shop of sorts, and I wouldn't even know what to say or how to ask for it. I just live vicariously through the Muggle books. My favourite is _A History of Photography: From 1839 to the present_. They come out with a new version every few years or so." I looked up at him and smiled again. "I'm truly impressed at how fast Muggle technology evolves in just a handful of years. It can take us _years_ years to master a spell!"

Potter was quiet for a while as he just stared at me. I had no idea what he was thinking. Was I rambling again? Pansy always complained about how much I blathered when I'd start talking about photography and technology. The only person who listened to me this quietly before was Lovegood.

"What?" I finally snapped.

"Nothing. It's getting late, I should head home."

"Alright," I said, nodding. "I'll settle the bill." I turned my head searching for Tom, I didn't want Potter see me; I didn't want him to see my disappointment. The man had approached _me_ , and he wanted to be _my_ friend and I'd evidently bored him to death.

"Malfoy, wait."

"Yeah?" I asked and met Potter's gaze.

"I drink for free here," he said.

 _Of course he does_. "Alright, don't I have to pay for _my_ share?" I asked, trying not to sound completely put off.

"No. Just leave a few Galleons for tip." He smiled at me as if it was just the most normal thing in the world. _Drink for free, just leave a tip_. I sighed and reached into my pocket and left a few coins. It was more than what would have been our bill. Hopefully the next time, when I was here alone, because obviously Potter was never going to see me again, Tom would be a bit kinder. Maybe I could bring Pansy to impress her.

"Alright, Potter. It's been...interesting."

"Likewise, Malfoy," he replied.

I wasn't sure how we were supposed to leave now. Were we to shake hands? Just nod and walk away? Make false promises of how we'd keep in touch?

"I'll take the Floo," Potter said.

"Brilliant," I answered, rather unbrilliantly.

Since there was nothing more left to be said and done, I walked out of the Leaky towards Diagon Alley. Perhaps I'd go into Flourish and Blotts and browse through _100 Photographs That Changed The Wizarding World_ , wondering if I'd ever get featured in there. Perhaps after I was dead, and my mini cameras became known to the wizarding world. Maybe the pouting picture of Potter I took would be the one that'd change the wizarding world.

God, I was such a fool. I should have just always kept my distance from Potter. One meeting and I was rattled.

"Malfoy!"

 _Fantastic_. I assumed pretending that I didn't hear him was not an option. I could have just acted like I hadn't heard him and Disapparated. But, I also figured then he'd just send me an owl, calling me out on it. Which he probably would. Because it was Potter, and he was just so infuriating. I can never remember why I wanted to be his friend.

So I opted for the only choice I had, I turned and looked confused. "Yes?" I really did try hard to not sound smug. I swear.

"Ginny's going to be gone for the week, so I don't have to go to the Weasleys for Sunday brunch..." he said, panting, as if he'd just run a marathon. I thought Aurors were supposed to be in shape?

"Okay..." I drawled.

"Brunch. Do you want to have brunch tomorrow?"

"Why?"

"I thought I'd made that clear."

I looked at him confused.

"Friends, Malfoy."

"Oh. Right."

He shook his head as if I was just the most unbelievable thing that ever existed. I reckon, it was how I looked at him, too.

"Where do you want to meet?" I asked, because, I was sure I had no other choice.

Potter seemed to be struck mute then. "There's this Muggle café..." He looked at me as if I might protest. If I couldn't be seen with him in the wizarding world, that would be fine by me. "Why don't I come meet you at your flat, and I can Apparate us there."

To this, I raised an eyebrow. Potter stood there, resolute. As if he wasn't going to take no for an answer, and he wasn't going to explain himself.

"Scared of being seen with me in the wizarding world?" I know, I can't help myself.

"That's not—" He sighed before he ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up more. I raised my hand and pretended to scratch my nose as I took a picture of him from the mini camera. He seemed to be biting his tongue. What was it he was just so afraid to say?

"It's alright," I said, feeling sorry for him. I took out a parchment from my pocket and wrote my address in. "Here. You can take the Floo to my place." I handed him the information and just walked away, feeling rather self-satisfied.

—

Potter was surprisingly formal. He owled early in the morning announcing what time he'd arrive, and then he was punctual. We arrived to a hidden Apparition point in an alley in Muggle London. We walked for about ten minutes and reached a café called, Roger Johnson, and it was _bustling_!

I'd barely ventured into the Muggle world, and never went to any Muggle restaurants, so this was a treat for me. I kept my excitement hidden, though. I wouldn't want Potter to know I was already having a good time.

The waitresses wore white dresses with white pantyhose and white tennis shoes. They walked around in circles with giant trays of food, and barely kept from running into each other. The hostess seemed to recognise Potter and seated us right away.

Potter ordered; a full English breakfast, sausage, fried egg, pudding, bacon, beans, the works! Incidentally, I also felt like I was on a date. My thoughts kept getting distracted by the servers. Each time someone came to fill our coffee mug, it was a different waitress. It was chaotic, but it worked like a well-oiled machine. I could see why Potter liked this place. It was brilliant.

Well, back to it being a date, Potter paid. Honestly, it really was my fault since I didn't have any Muggle money. I'm sorry I didn't think of going to Gringotts at eight a.m. on a Sunday for currency conversion. If we were keeping count, technically, I had paid for the drinks the night before.

"Potter, I have to ask," I started as we were finishing off our coffee.

Potter looked up at me, scared.

"Do you fancy Torbjørn?"

He nearly spit his coffee out. "What makes you think so?"

"Just the way you were glaring at him at the engagement party, then you told me that story...I just wondered. If you fancied him and he was marrying your wife's brother." I tried to keep my tone as casual as possible. "You know, I'm sure the situation can get a bit complicated..."

"No. I don't fancy him. I just...he just inadvertently made me realise who I am. I think I was _glaring_ as you say, because I'm just amazed how easy it is for them. Just to be out and be happy. I kept it hidden inside me for as long as I could, because it was just another thing normal about me. I already have the scar, the fame, and now I am gay."

"Being gay isn't really so bad," I said, hoping to sound supportive.

"I know. I just fear what people will say about _her_ once I'm out. I just don't want Ginny to get brought into this. It isn't her fault."

"Potter, why don't you let the rest of the world worry about the rest of the world for once? This isn't another battle you're being forced to fight. The balance of the wizarding world, good versus evil, isn't resting on your shoulders any more. _Ginny_..." I paused expecting the name to leave a foul taste in my mouth, it didn't, "...is a big girl. She can handle herself. I think the fact that she's practically got herself a new husband lined up indicates she is quite capable of finding her own happiness. Why don't you try that for yourself?"

"We should go. They are going to need this table for other people." Potter abruptly stood up and walked out of the café.

Evidently being friends with Potter meant being brushed off whenever he felt like it. I contemplated if I should just let him be and allow him to ignore my question, or if I should really make him answer it. Pansy was my best friend and if I was avoiding something, she'd crack the whip and make me give in. Then suddenly I had a very disturbing visual of me with a whip in my hand and Potter being on his knees. No, I didn't want to go _there_.

"Maybe I'm asking too much of you," I said when I caught up with him. We walked side by side back to the alley from which we'd arrived.

"What do you mean?" he asked, avoiding eye contact with me.

"I mean, you _just_ came out to me. I'm probably one of the three or four people in this world who know your secret. I suppose, I have to let you deal with it first. I think coming out of the closet isn't really a race. Everyone takes their own time."

"Wow, Malfoy. That's really mature of you," he mocked me. _Rat bastard_.

"It's known to happen from time to time," I said. We reached the Apparition point, and there were no Muggles around. I reckoned we were now going to go on our own way. But before I left him, I wanted to ask one last question. "Have you thought about what might happen if you actually fall in love with someone?"

He looked at me like I'd just handed him a sour jelly bean. "What do you mean?"

"What if you meet some bloke and he's this _amazing_ man, but you're married? Do you think he'll wait for you? Would you ask him to do that for you? Could _you_ do it for someone else?"

Potter was about to answer, but I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it gently. Seemed like a friendly thing to do. I completely ignored how warm he felt under my hand and how the heat from his body radiated off his clothes and into my skin.

"You don't have to answer now," I said and Potter turned his gaze to look at my hand on his shoulder. I removed it immediately. Clearly, I'd just made the situation awkward. "It's just something to think about until next time."

"Next time?" he asked, almost hiccupping the words.

I hesitated. "I assumed so...if I weren't terrible company."

"I just thought maybe I was too overbearing, and you'd filled your quota..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," I snapped. Suddenly, I was starting to panic at the thought that Potter didn't want to see me anymore. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and tell him how ridiculous he was being, but then I remembered how warm he felt under my hands, so I changed my mind.

"I'll owl you," I promised and Disapparated.

—

I owled Potter the next day, because I really had no idea what entailed in the social obligations of someone you were _trying_ to be friends with. I'd told him I would owl him, so I knew I couldn't wait for him to send me a message first. It was only polite. But how many days should I have waited? Twenty four hours seemed like the right thing.

His response was almost immediate. Should I have admitted to myself that my heart did a happy dance when I got his owl? Should I have smiled to myself for ten minutes when he asked me if I wanted to meet for lunch the next day? Probably not. What I should have done was probably be alarmed about the fact that I was allowing myself to get attached to _Potter_ of all people, after having only spent two days with him. We weren't even dating. He was just some bloke who wanted to only see me, because I happened to be the one who knew his secret. If it was Lovegood, instead of me who'd discovered it, he'd probably be chasing after her.

For lunch we, yet again, went to another Muggle restaurant. This one wasn't as hot and happening as the breakfast place, but it was still an interesting experience. The hostess at this place, Stuart's Kitchen, also seemed to recognise Potter. I was starting to suspect if Potter was only taking me to places he was well-known at. We were seated in the far corner of the dining room next to a brick wall. The wall of the restaurant had placards and awards adorned all over. The one next to our table indicated Stuart's Kitchen had won the "Best British Restaurant" award from _Time Out_ magazine. _Wasn't_ Time Out _a gay publication_? I wondered.

I looked at Potter who'd seen the plaque as well and had the audacity to simply shrug. I didn't say anything, because I wasn't sure if that was a supportive thing to do or not. I'd never been asked to be a supportive friend in my life, except for maybe Pansy, but she'd never come right out and say it. So I had no clue where I was supposed to start. The fact I'd shown up for drinks or meals seemed to satisfy Potter enough.

We talked mostly about the case he was working on with the Muggle law enforcement. It seemed someone was using a Disillusionment Charm to go in and out of Muggle homes and steal priceless antiques. The Aurors were stumped at how someone could use magic around Muggle technology without things about haywire.

As he talked, he tugged on his collar, and I couldn't help but wonder what that was about. I snapped a few pictures from the mini camera I'd set up on my tie, because I figured raising my hand constantly and using the shirt sleeve button to take pictures would look rather peculiar.

This time when I was out with Potter, I'd made sure to come prepared. I had enough Muggle money to pay for the both of us. So I did. Then it felt like I was on a date, again. To manoeuvre a situation that seemed platonic and turning it into a date didn't really seem like the Gryffindor way, so I told myself I was thinking too much about it. Besides, these weren't dates, because my meetings with Potter were ending abruptly with one or both of us scowling and not with a kiss.

Great. Then I started to think about Potter's lips.

"What did I do now?" he asked.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"You're staring at me and frowning. I haven't said a word in all of five minutes, and I let you pay because you were so insistent on it."

Perfect. I thought about the softness (or lack of) of Potter's lips, stared at him while doing it, and then he'd also noticed. Bloody brilliant. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

"I have to go," I said impatiently. "I've got a meeting scheduled with Pansy at _The Oracle_ HQ." This was of course, a lie. We rarely had any one-on-one meetings with the Editor, and she usually contacted us via the Floo and arranged them. I stood up and the metal chair screeched on the floor, making everyone else in the restaurant turn and look at me.

"Oh okay," Potter said fumbling and stood up, as well. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Why what's tomorrow?" Merlin my voice was scratchy.

"Nothing...just thought maybe we could meet for tea."

"Erm. Sure," I said, confused again. Initially when we'd met, we had talked about his secret life. But today, we hadn't even brushed on the topic. The closest thing to being gay was the plaque that hung on the wall next to our table. I wondered if Potter wanted to tell me more, but couldn't get himself to do it.

"Brilliant," he said grinning, and the entire room seemed to light up. It was the smile I'd seen on him when he was around the Granger-Weasley children, so I knew it was authentic. That made me happier than it should have, so obviously I ignored it.

I nodded and walked away. I had to truly pace myself, so it didn't seem like I was running away from him. Which I was and even though, this time, I did hear him call my name—I pretended I had not, and Disapparated home.

—

After my initial hesitation of how I thought I was developing an attraction towards Potter, I made myself go out and find someone for a quick release. I'd thought if I just shagged another man, I wouldn't be so confused about Potter.

Potter was a relatively inexperienced gay man, and I'd just found the idea of popping someone's cherry appealing. Then, I didn't even know if he'd ever had sex with another man. Which evidently led me to start thinking about Potter while I was with Brendon, or was it Brian?

Needless to say, I was the king of bad decisions. On top of everything else, a weird feeling of guilt came across me from a place I didn't even know existed. I felt responsible for Potter. I felt as if he had this huge secret he'd shared with me and instead of being a supportive person to an in-the-closet gay man, I was starting to sexualise him.

The last thing Harry Potter needed was another love-sick _fan_. I decided to push all my attraction or whatever sentiments away and focus on being his friend. I sent an owl to Potter and asked him to come over to my place for tea.

I was going to exceed all expectations at this friend thing.

—

Being friends with Potter wasn't really so bad. After he'd come over for tea, we went out for drinks at a Muggle pub.

"How did you know that you were gay?" he asked me when we'd settled in with our pints in hand.

I shrugged. "I think I always knew something was off, because I just never looked at girls the way my friends did. At Hogwarts, even from the start, we'd go swimming in the lake behind the castle, and I just really looked forward to all the boys in our House taking their shirts off. I could stare at them for hours."

"And no one noticed?"

"Not at first. The boys didn't notice, because they were showing off for the girls. And the girls didn't notice because well—they were sitting around giggling or insulting the boys," I said and Potter nodded. "It's not like I had time to explore my sexuality really..." No, I didn't want to talk about the war, and I hoped Potter understood.

"Who was your fir—"

"Theo," I said before Potter even finished his question. He didn't really seem too surprised. "Have _you_ ever been with a man?" I remembered Potter had told me he tried _dating_ a Muggle, but I had no idea how far he'd reached.

"Are you asking me if I've ever fucked a man?" He tried to joke, but I could tell he was nervous.

"Yes, Potter. That's what I'm asking."

"A few. Muggles mostly. I went on an undercover mission in Leiden once, almost a year ago and our last night there, I'd met someone at the wizard pub. We were all under a charm so no one knew who I was besides my colleagues, but I'd snuck out with this man and spent the night with him. The next day, I returned to the Ministry and told my associates I'd just turned in early."

"And this man, he has no idea he'd slept with Harry Potter?"

Potter shook his head. "No, we'd discussed no names and contact information, so I didn't feel the need to tell him. I have no idea who he was, either. If I see him again, he wouldn't even know it was me, and what would I tell him... _You've got a birthmark in your inner thigh, and you like it when your lover licks it_?"

 _That_ was a visual I did _not_ need.

Potter saw—what probably was an expression of horror on my face—and burst into laughter. "Your face...that was brilliant."

"What?" I snapped.

"I made that last bit up." He smiled at me and then finished the last of his drink, eventually, standing up and going to get a second round.


	3. Chapter 3

**He's So Lucky (He's A Star) - PART III**

* * *

We started to meet up three or four times a week — mostly at Muggle cafés and restaurants — and I'd started to lose count of who paid when. This made me think of how it was definitely friendship and nothing more.

On top of that, Potter had also started to give me tips on things that could be potential news stories I could pass along to my co-workers. It ranged from unsolved crimes driving the Ministry officials bonkers to even small things like how Weasley's secretary would take two hours lunches every Thursday; they were all convinced she was in some sort of a cult. Underground cult stories were unbelievably popular with wizards. It gave people theories and ideas of a new Dark Lord rising, and religious fanatics would have a field day with them.

I was in a good place.

I should have known right then and there it wouldn't last.

After the first two months of meeting up in random restaurants, Potter started to come over. A lot. Eventually, he started to sleep on the sofa. I had to make sure I kept my darkroom under a locking spell _with_ a Disillusionment Charm, so he wouldn't wander in half groggy in the morning.

At first, he used to go home first thing in the morning, leaving a note behind. In time, he started to stick around, making coffee, which eventually turned into making breakfast. I felt like we were living together, except he slept on the sofa.

Pansy Flooed a few times when he was asleep on the sofa, and she'd give me _that_ look. I ignored it and constantly tried to tell her that we were _just_ friends. She seemed to buy it. I hated keeping the truth from her, but just like Potter who was keeping secrets for his wife, I was keeping secrets for him.

Then there were the instances when I'd also caught him staring at me. The first time was when my back was towards him and I was washing dishes in the sink. His reflection on the window glass above the sink told me exactly where he was looking. I turned around immediately and looked _at_ him. He cleared his throat and rushed out into the sitting room.

Every time I'd catch him, I'd give him the same look, the _well, what are you waiting for?_ look. And every time, he'd look away, shy off, and I wouldn't hear from him for a few days. He'd make excuses like, "Ginny's visiting for the weekend, and we're going to be at the Weasleys." Then he'd be back. Things would be back to "normal," whatever "normal" was, until it'd happen again.

In the beginning, I'd brushed it off as Potter simply having a harmless crush. We were both young, gay, and spent way too much time together. He probably imagined us _being_ together. I didn't blame him. I'd imagined it, too. Except, I kept my imagining at bay, mostly at night, in the confines of my bedroom while Potter slept naked on the sofa.

I was _never_ nearly as obvious as him.

I'd also come to the conclusion that non-sexualising him was also out of the question. He was fucking hot. And fit. He was an Auror and even though he'd never taken his shirt off in front of me, I could still tell what his body would look like without a shirt. I had every line, every curve, photographed. I'd read him so closely I could tell which muscle in his neck twitched when he chewed bread and cheese as opposed to a treacle tart.

Still, I never looked at him the way he looked at me.

I couldn't. I wouldn't. I refused.

—

"Charlie and Torbjørn are coming to visit for a week," Potter informed me at one of our usual lunch spots.

"Yeah?" I asked. I figured he was telling me because of his buried guilt that he carried with him about trying to shag Torbjørn and never telling Charlie about it. Maybe he wanted me to tell him that he shouldn't.

"Ginny made reservations at Cloak and Dagger for dinner," he said and I nodded. Usually when he spent time with Ginny and her family, he didn't share that information with me. Partially because I didn't care, and because he only put himself into a deep depressive state about how he was lying to them.

"She's bringing Cormac."

I dropped the spoon in my soup and it splashed everywhere. "Fucking hell!"

The waitress came rushing to me with a napkin. "Are you alright?" she asked and started to pat my leg with the cloth.

"Fine. Thank you," I said, taking the napkin off her hand and glared at her so she would go away.

"I'm sorry, did you just say, she's bringing McLaggen?"

Potter nodded. "Will you come with me?"

Honestly. Potter needed to stop giving me shocking information while I was trying to eat hot soup. "What?"

"She's going to tell Charlie about us. I mean, her and me, and McLaggen I guess. I just—I don't really want to go by myself."

"What if they think you and I—"

"They won't. I will tell them we're just friends. I mean that's what we are, right?"

Honestly, he needed to stop probing me into a confession. "Yes, that's what we are."

"Draco..." He'd started calling me Draco about a month ago, but I continued calling him Potter. "I just...I could really use a friend there."

He was making that face again. The face where his lower lip slightly quivered and his eyes went slightly wide; the face where I had a hard time believing that he was some bad arse Auror that once had defeated the Dark Lord as a boy. I'd never seen him with that expression with anyone else except for myself. It was all a bit too gay and theatrical in my opinion (can't say I didn't love it, though).

It was also the only face I didn't photograph.

"I'm not one that most people want in their corner," I said.

"I'm not most people."

That much was true. "What do you expect to happen at this dinner?"

"I just don't want to be the one that's coerced into breaking the news to the family. I don't know what Charlie's reaction will be, but I just know that I won't give in if you're there."

"Why?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

"Potter, you have to give me something!"

He ran a hand through his hair and just looked at me like I was the most infuriating thing in the world. I'd seen that look before. Potter had given me that look throughout our Hogwarts years. _And_ the few months we'd been friends. Sadly, I kind of liked that look on him.

"Malfoy..." he breathed out, and to hear him call me that again was disheartening. "I _struggle_ when I'm around you."

I scowled at him. Was this supposed to be convincing me to come to dinner?

"For some odd reason I've always been tough when you're watching. You give me this really weird sense of strength. I just _know_ that if you're there, then I won't back down. I will refuse to appear weak..." His hands were up in the air and it was almost like he was ready to punch the wall "I—"

"Okay, Potter."

"Okay?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'll come with you."

"You will?"

"Seriously. You're just going to keep repeating me? You want me there, so fine, I'll be there."

It came as no surprise to me that the other party involved in the failure of Potter's marriage would want Potter to break the news. All his life he'd fought other people's battles as his own, so naturally, she would turn to him to take care of it.

On top of that, Potter claiming that I gave him strength was undoubtedly the most bizarre thing I'd ever heard. The fact that if I was around inspired Potter to not look weak was such a strange thing to say. Did he imagine me when he was on his Auror missions? Did he feel like he needed to impress me all the time? Maybe I was reading too much into it.

If I was honest with myself, I'd admit that I knew exactly what Potter was talking about. Whenever I was around him, I wanted to be more than what I was. I wanted to be better. Of course, I'd never tell him this. He'd probably read too much into it, given I didn't even know what it meant.

—

Despite my need for punctuality, I found it highly annoying that we were the last ones to arrive. I had a sneaky suspicion that Potter's wife had told him the wrong time. Perhaps she wished to speak to her brother in advance. We were guided to the table by the hostess who gave me an odd look when Potter had told her about the reservation.

The rest of the party that was already seated turned to look at us and it was clear that Potter hadn't informed them I was accompanying him. The table was set up for five, and we were obviously six.

"I'll have them arrange another place setting momentarily," the hostess said and disappeared.

"You didn't tell them?" I whispered under my breath. I knew Potter had heard me.

"I did..." he whispered back.

"Harry!" Ginny stood up immediately and hugged Potter.

McLaggen stayed seated and glared at me. Why? I had no idea. It wasn't like I was there to steal his girlfriend.

"You did bring a friend, Potter," McLaggen said eventually.

Potter looked at him confused, then looked at Ginny. "Yes I thought..."

"Sorry. I didn't think you were being serious," Ginny said dismissively. I found that to be highly rude. Every other time I'd met her, she seemed caring and polite. What was wrong with her today?

"He wasn't being serious?" I spat out before I could stop myself. What was _my_ deal? Why did I just jump in to defend Potter?

"Draco..." Potter said quietly and his hand brushed against mine. The gesture wasn't caught by anyone else but Torbjørn who raised an eyebrow when he looked at me after.

"Weren't you at our engagement party?" Torbjørn said standing up and coming around the table to shake my hand, and then he gave Potter a hug, too. "Good to see you, Harry."

"Yes, I'm a photographer for _The Oracle_ ," I replied. It was so strange to stand around a table in the middle of a busy restaurant where half the party was on their feet while others were seated, as if they were some patriarchal entities that were too good to be polite.

"Of course!" Torbjørn said excitedly. "The pictures were wonderful and my family was so happy!"

"Thank you. I've very glad you liked them," I replied, smiling.

Finally the restaurant staff brought over a chair to our table and moved things around slightly so they could make room for me. I really had no idea why Ginny wouldn't have believed Potter if he'd said he might bring someone. Maybe he hadn't been convincing enough if he'd told her before he'd asked me. Still, I found the entire ordeal to be rather rude, especially if they didn't take Potter seriously.

When we were finally seated, food menu in hand, the server appeared. I glanced over at Potter who looked uncomfortable and I could totally relate.

"As you look over the menu, may I suggest a bottle of wine for the table?" the waiter asked. "Perhaps the Augustus chardonnay."

My hand clenched the menu tighter but otherwise I didn't react. I supposed I was just not going to drink any wine.

"Maybe Draco has a suggestion," Potter said and he smiled softly at me.

"The owner of Augustus wineries is being investigated for something. I can't discuss the case," I said. Potter must have seen my reaction. "I would suggest staying away from them for now." I turned to look at the waiter who was struggling to hide his scowl. Clearly the restaurant would have known about the investigation and were trying to sell off the wine before it was deemed illegal and they would lose their profits.

"Any of the reds will do, but I recommend the Merlot, of course." The red wine index didn't have Augustus listed. I looked at the rest of the table for their approval and they all mostly shrugged. Except for Charlie Weasley who was looking at me sceptically.

The waiter nodded and walked away.

"What's the scandal?" McLaggen asked.

"I'm sure Draco can't talk about it," Potter said.

"Oh come on," McLaggen insisted.

"A former employee at the winery filed a complaint that he was wrongfully terminated. When the suit didn't hold, he leaked the information that the winery actually does not produce any of its own wine but travels around the world and re-labels other wineries products as their own and sells it. They make a huge profit without paying for the manpower. They've been doing that for the past ten years and well—I guess someone finally caught up with them."

I noticed that everyone's eyes widened slightly. "They are also being accused of using Dark Magic and Spells to hide their tracks," I added, just for theatrics.

"Is _The Oracle_ going to do an exposé?" Torbjørn asked enthusiastically, his hands waving with palms facing forward and his fingers splayed.

I smiled since I was struggling to suppress my laughter. "Yes. One of my colleagues..." I almost blurted out Patil's name, "is on the case."

"That's fascinating," Torbjørn said, and McLaggen looked bored. He must have thought they used actual human blood to make their wines red.

We ordered several appetizers after the wine was brought out, and I saw Potter look uncomfortable. He was always weird about sharing food he was uncertain of. I shook my head and smiled at him, and he made a face at me. He knew I was mocking him, and he was insulting me right back.

Realising we weren't alone at the table, I turned to look at Torbjørn and noticed that _everyone_ at the table, including Ginny, looked at us with a hint of confusion. I cleared my throat as if nothing had happened. It was the best I could do. What was I supposed to explain? That Potter and I were friends and we made faces at each other—something that wasn't strange to me or Potter since one of us always scowled at the other ever since we were at Hogwarts.

The appetizers arrived and I was able to see why Potter had been so discouraged. Nearly every dish had some sort of a variation of mushrooms in it. Mushrooms were either chopped in, or baked with the hors d'oeuvres.

I grabbed a few pieces of the melted cheese on focaccia and cut it in pieces. In small pieces, the mushrooms could easily be taken off and the bread could be eaten easily. Potter copied what I was doing, since he must have realised I was really being _that_ particular for his own good. After that, he basically mimicked my form of cutting each dish and ate around the mushrooms.

It was a good thing we were sitting next to each other because when the conversation would divert away from us, I'd steal the mushrooms from his plate and ate them. I didn't care for them, either, but I didn't hate them nearly as much as Potter did. I was surprised his wife didn't know this about him. Sure, they weren't really a married couple, but Potter had told me plenty of times that they were quite close and told each other everything. The fact that Potter _loathed_ mushrooms hadn't been on her radar made me doubt the closeness of their friendship.

Then there was the matter of the asparagus. I _loved_ asparagus. We'd ordered two servings for appetizer and I knew, as I'm sure Potter did too, I could have eaten both shares on my own. Potter helped himself with a huge portion and I had a sneaky suspicion why. We followed the same routine as before with the leftover mushrooms. I would steal them off Potter's plate when I _thought_ no one was looking.

For the rest of the meal, I'd stayed quiet. It was something I was used to, especially when I was on a job with the reporters, because I was supposed to just observe and take pictures. I'd pinned a mini camera to the collar of my shirt, but I hadn't taken any pictures at dinner. I was already on edge being at the table with Ginny and McLaggen, and I still wasn't sure what Charlie and Torbjørn knew and what they didn't. They both looked at us occasionally as if they were trying to place me somewhere in their head. If they knew Ginny and McLaggen were an item, then they must have been wondering if Potter and I were too.

Finally, Charlie came out and said it. "When are you going to tell the rest of the family?"

Potter looked up at him, and I felt his knee bouncing restlessly next to mine. I placed my left hand on it and squeezed it gently. He needed to relax.

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea," Ginny said, to which, McLaggen cleared his throat.

"Why not?" Torbjørn asked.

Ginny tucked a strand of her hair behind her right ear. "You know how Mum is—"

"Would you rather she read about it in the paper, if someone sees you snogging a man who isn't your husband?" Charlie raised an eyebrow then looked at me.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," I said, raising both my hands in surrender.

"What about the two of you?" Charlie said to Potter.

"We get seen in public all the time," Potter replied.

"And what? You're careful about public displays of affections, as well?" Charlie asked.

"Erm..." Potter gulped.

"We're not a couple," I clarified.

"Are you sure?" Charlie demanded. His tone was borderline threatening, and it was starting to piss me off.

"Listen, Weasley," I said, because he may have been Potter's friend, but he wasn't mine. " _Charlie._ I'm Potter's friend. For the longest time, I was the only one who knew about his _secret_. Your sister and Potter are here to talk to you about their state of affairs, and not be judged. Maybe you should just be a little—"

"Draco," Potter said softly, and I supposed I was going to cross a line and he was stopping me from it.

"Yes. You're here to tell me that you're not really a married couple. I'm here to tell you first of all, I'm not surprised at all, second, you should have filed for divorce two years ago. You should tell the family, _together_." Charlie looked at Potter and Ginny ignoring McLaggen and myself. "You should do it without your _partners_ —" I cleared my throat to speak. Charlie glared at me. "Romantic or otherwise," he added.

"When I told Mum and Dad that I wasn't going to marry Cecilia Warburton because I was gay, it was something I had to do on my own. But _this_ , you have to do it together. She'll cry and tell you that you just have to work through it, and then, Harry, it'll be your decision whether or not you want to come out to them."

"What about Grang—I mean Ron and Hermione, first?" I asked, and Charlie turned to look at me again and the scowl had diminished. "I think they'd be cross, if you didn't tell them first."

Charlie nodded. "That's probably a good idea. You should tell them first and then maybe they can be there, when you tell Mum and Dad."

Everyone seemed to relax and then _finally_ , it was time for dessert.

The dessert display was at the front of the restaurant and the dining guests either had the option of ordering off the menu, or walking to the front to look at the pieces that were up for show. I'd thought we were just going to order something off the menu, when Charlie announced otherwise.

"Cormac and Draco, why don't the two of you walk up to the front and decide what we should have. Just order a cake, and we can split it into six pieces."

I was surprised, but I tried not to show it. It was obvious Charlie wanted to say something to his sister and Potter without McLaggen and I around. "Sure," I said, shrugging. "And whatever's left over, you can take it to Ron as a peace offering."

I grinned at Potter who just shook his head as if he was judging me.

I mock-scowled back at him. "Just for that, I'll make sure they put extra mushrooms in your tiramisu."

—

"What did your brother-in-law have to say when I was off to order dessert?" I asked Potter after we arrived at our flat.

Potter looked a bit staggered by my question. He shrugged. "Nothing, just wanted to give me some advice."

"About what?"

He shrugged again. "Dating."

"Oh, this ought to be interesting."

"It was nothing. Just need to get over the announcement about the divorce and the family's reaction first, before I could even seriously think about dating."

"So you are non-seriously thinking about dating?" I asked.

Potter didn't answer. He plopped on the sofa, where he usually slept, and opened up the bottle of Firewhisky.

"Potter, you can't just ignore my question." I took the bottle off his hands and poured two small shots. If it were him, he'd pour too much into his glass and then finish it in one swig. Drunk Potter was more tight lipped than sober Potter.

"I'm not thinking about dating anyone," Potter said.

"So why was Charlie giving you dating advice?"

Potter glowered at me and then emptied his glass. "He thinks that you and I should be together."

 _Oh_. "Why?" I tried to act like I was disgusted by the idea.

"Because according to him we already act like a couple and I..." Potter paused and picked up the bottle again.

"Why does he think we act like a couple?"

"The mushrooms. The asparagus. He commented on how you took food off my plate with such ease and the way you poured wine when my glass was almost empty. He just said you pay more attention to me, and I to you, than Cormac with Ginny and they _are_ a real couple."

I cared about Potter because he was my friend. I never thought of my actions as romantic. Sure, if I were out with Pansy, I'd eat her mushrooms too. That sounded weird. In any case, it was a _friends_ thing to do. On second thought, I probably would make the waiter take the dish back and bring something non-mushroomy. I just didn't want to do that in front of Potter's family. Great. It sure looked as though I liked him more than a friend.

"What did you say to that?" I asked, dismissing all other thoughts from my head. I wondered how Ginny had reacted to the comment.

Potter shrugged and finished another shot. He stood up and grabbed his jacket as if he was getting ready to leave. "I should go."

"You're going home?" I asked; I wasn't disappointed or upset, but I knew that he liked to stay at my flat when McLaggen was in town. The guest bedroom was really Ginny's room when she'd be home from practice and that's where McLaggen usually stayed, too. After Potter and I had started our acquaintance, he preferred to stay on my sofa than at the house with them.

"Ron and Hermione are coming in the morning," he said.

"So McLaggen isn't staying the night?" I asked only because Potter stood there, looking unconvinced that he wanted to leave, even if he'd said so.

"I think he's going to leave first thing in the morning. He's got his own team practice to get back to," Potter replied.

"Brilliant." I stood up, too, and made my way to the Floo as if I was getting ready to bid him goodbye. I wasn't sure what else we could have done. My heart was pounding at how strangely he'd been acting. Was he offended that Charlie had said that he and I should be a couple? Was the idea of being with me really so bad? Maybe he still felt guilty about not confessing to Charlie about Torbjørn.

"Right. I should go." Potter walked up to me next to the fireplace and then again, stood there as if his feet were glued to the ground.

"What's the matter, Potter?" I asked finally, because I knew if I didn't ask him directly, he probably wouldn't tell me otherwise.

"Draco," he said and took my hand in his. I didn't hesitate because in our shortly-established friendship, Potter had taken my hand before. We'd never talked about it, but he held my hand sometimes. Sometimes it was to balance himself when he was drunk and sometimes it just was. I didn't want to put a name to it, because part of me didn't want it to stop either.

Still, tonight's hand holding was different than any of the ones before. Potter's right thumb circled my left wrist and he looked at me with eyes so wide and lips slightly parted. I could never forget how beautiful he could be at times and I wished I could take pictures of _that_ face in front of me right now, but I was too afraid to move. Too afraid to break whatever spell this was.

"You feel it, don't you?" Potter said softly.

My heart dropped into my stomach. It was as if the shelves above the kitchen sink had magically disappeared and all the utensils, the pots and pans, had come crashing down. The noise in my head was so loud that my entire body gave a start.

"Potter..."

"Draco..."

Potter lifted my hand, turned it so it was palm faced up, and kissed it. His lips were soft, cold from the ice in the Firewhisky glass, and I wanted to taste him. He let go of my wrist, but my hand stayed where it was: by the side of Potter's face. Then my fingers raked through Potter's hair, and he leaned into the touch.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I feel it, too." _I always have_. I took him by the shoulders, I looked at him, and he looked at me.

"You'd once asked me if there was someone else. Someone that I liked, lusted after, always wanted to shag or obsessed over?" he said.

"Yeah," I replied, sceptically.

"It's you," he said. "It's you who is that someone else. The one I lusted after, always wanted to shag— _obsessed_ over."

I placed a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards me. And I hesitated, but he didn't. He kissed me. _He kissed me_. And I kissed him back.

"Stay," I said; our lips brushed when I spoke and then I rested my forehead against his. I wanted him to stay with me. More than that, I didn't want him to leave, ever. Even if it was just him sleeping on the sofa, even that would have been better than him leaving altogether.

"In your bed?" he asked as if he'd read my mind.

I smiled. "If you're comfortable—"

"Yes."

I smiled again.

"But."

"We don't have to do anything," I assured him. My mouth nibbled on his ear, and then I trailed a line of kisses down his neck to the collar of his shirt. "I just want you to stay."

"I want to do things," he said.

His fingers twined with mine and he led me to my bedroom. He'd never been there before. The extent of Potter's presence in my flat had been only to the sitting room and the kitchen. We walked by the door to my darkroom, and I wondered if I could ever take him in there.

He closed the bedroom door, against whom, I had to wonder but didn't ask.

"What sorts of things do you have in mind?" I asked.

He removed his glasses and placed them on the table next to my bed. "Tonight," he said unbuttoning my shirt, "I just want to _see_ you, kiss you..." Potter rubbed his thumb over my lips, "...touch you."

I ran my hand through his hair again. I knew exactly how he felt.

"Is that okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered and pulled him on the bed. I took my time taking his clothes off, kissing him at every new patch of skin that revealed itself to me. I kissed him until we were both naked and under the covers. He yawned as my mouth was on his neck again, marking my new favourite spot with my teeth.

I laughed and felt his body vibrate underneath me with his own bubbling howl. "Real romantic, Potter," I teased.

"Just hold me, Draco," he said. "All I've wanted these past months is for your arms around me. Just let me _feel_ you."

I smiled against his skin and rested back with his body settling next to mine. I didn't mean to, but I fell asleep before him as he continued to look at me and smiled.

—

When I woke up the next morning, Potter was gone, but he'd left a note behind. I was disappointed at the missed chance of some morning snogging, but I reckoned he had enough on his plate.

 _I didn't want to wake you, because I was sure that if you'd asked me to stay, I would have. I'll let you know how it goes with Ron and Hermione. I'll try to tell them about us—or at least how I feel about you, because well—never mind that for now. I made you some breakfast and coffee is set under a heating charm. I'll owl you soon. Have a good trip to Romania! ~ Harry_.

Romania! Shite. I'd completely forgotten that I was supposed to go to Craiova this afternoon with Blakely. He was doing some research on toxic plants that were supposedly being grown there and sold in the Black Market.

I jumped out of bed and sent a quick owl to Blakely asking him to send me information on the Portkey. Then I settled myself at the dining table in the kitchen and enjoyed the breakfast Potter had left for me.

 _I could get used to this_.

Potter's cooking was incredible and I thought back to the mornings we'd spent together talking and now we could have that always without the cautionary disclaimer of how we were just friends. I could creep up behind Potter and wrap my arms around him while he cooked. I could kiss his neck. I could do whatever I wanted because we were no longer _just friends_ and all the thoughts I had about him, the emotions that I'd pushed down, could surface—I could tell him how I _really_ felt.

I thought about how he'd confessed to me, and I could finally disclose myself to him.

—

I hadn't heard from Potter for almost a week. Blakely and I had been in Craiova for two days, then we'd travelled to Bucharest for another day. I'd thought that by the time I'd return, Potter would have been waiting on my sofa for me but, unfortunately, I'd returned to an empty flat and no letters.

I tried to busy myself with work. I developed the pictures that Blakely needed in no time, and then I spent most of my time in the darkroom organising my collections of pictures that I took for my hobby.

After the week had been over, I finally fire-called his home. Even if Ginny would have answered, at least she could have told me that he was still alive. I'd thought about contacting Lovegood first, but I thought the more people heard about _us_ from him, the better.

Potter was there.

"Where the fuck have you been?" _Where did that come from_? My anger surprised me.

"Draco," was all he said. "I—how was your trip?"

 _What the actual fuck_? "It was fine. Where have you been?"

"I've been...thinking," he said.

"That's brilliant. Did you forget that you'd told me—"

"I know. I was on mission for the past two days, and I wanted to contact you—"

"But you were placed under a body binding spell?" I asked. I really needed to get my anger under control.

"Drac—"

"Potter, if you've changed your mind, it's _not_ a problem, but I expected better from you. I thought we were friends. You always act like this. I catch you staring at my arse and you disappear for days, and now this. You _kissed_ me. This isn't as dismissible." I was just about to sever the Floo connection when he mumbled something that I didn't understand. "Pardon?"

"Can I stop by later tonight?" he said.

"Why? So you can fuck me and then tell me it was a mistake?"

"No, Draco. Will you just calm—"

I didn't hear what he had to say. I'd _heard_ enough already. Of course, I should have raised the wards at my flat, because not three minutes later, Potter had Apparated in.

"What do you want, Potter?" I asked casually while I sat on the sofa and poured myself a glass of Chianti. I wasn't going to show Potter that he had any effect on me. I usually drank Firewhisky alone when I was sad and he knew that. He knew so much about me, and I was just— nothing but a complete idiot. It was like that fucking train ride when I was eleven.

"Ron and Hermione..."

 _Of course_. How in the hell had I expected anything else? When he's gay and married a fucking girl, no one bats an eyelash. When he comes out and claims he wants to date Draco Malfoy, everyone has an opinion.

"What had Charlie said to you that night at dinner?" My words spat out of me as if I were breathing fire.

"He told me that it was clear that I was in—interested in you and that I should pursue it."

"Is that why you asked me if I felt _it_ too?" I looked up from my drink as he stood there across from me. This was when I really _looked_ at him. He looked like hell. He looked worse than the evening he'd been brought to the manor by the Death Eaters. What was wrong with him?

His expression softened and I supposed it had to do with the concerned look on my face.

"I asked you to be my friend, because I didn't know how else to be—how else to be near you. I wanted to date you. Ever since I'd acknowledged to myself that I fancied blokes more, I'd find myself thinking about you. Then you started coming to the events and you had your big fancy camera and you just looked so—"

"So...what?"

"So unattainable. You walked around like you owned the room. As if the charity events you were at were yours and everyone else was a mere guest that you couldn't care less about. Then your pictures were incredible. I kept all the articles."

I looked at him then looked at the leather chair next to the sofa. I didn't want to offer him to take a seat, but I was weirded out by the fact that he was just standing there—making these confessions—like some child getting disciplined.

He, as always, followed my cue and took a seat. I bloody hated that he'd got to know me so damn well, and I hated that I loved that about him.

"So why have you decided to no longer pursue me?" I asked dryly.

As he looked at his hands, probably trying to find the right words, I poured him a glass, too. Because I hate myself. Because I needed for him to be comfortable. Because I didn't want to see him so tense.

"Thanks," he whispered and picked up the glass. "I haven't decided to no longer pursue you. I just needed to know..." He paused again and it was driving me bloody mad.

"Whatever it is, Potter, you should just come out and say it. It never stopped you before to express yourself to me. To tell me how I'm a git—"

"I haven't called you a git since fifth year."

"Yes, well, I'm sure in your head you've said it several times." He scowled at me which told me that I'd hit a nerve and I did a happy dance on the inside.

"I hate that you know me so well," he said.

I sighed. "It's a two way street."

"Hermione says that I've always been obsessed with you," he said after a very long pause of silence between us. I didn't react. I needed to know where this was going. "I always needed to impress you, whether it be my first flying lesson, or finding out what you were up to during sixth year..." He leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.

I couldn't look away from his face. His fucking lips that had been on mine just a few days ago. I remembered tasting his skin, wrapping my arms around his waist. All I wanted to do was take him to the bedroom and show him how _good_ I could make it for him. But, I just sat there and stared as he came up with the words to break my heart.

"She says that I really need to think this over. So that's what I've been doing. Thinking."

"Without me?" Yeah, the desperation in my voice was not amiss.

"I can't think when I'm around you," he said. The nerve, really.

"Obsession is also a two way street," I said.

"What do you mean?"

What _did_ I mean? "Maybe you're just bad at hiding your obsession."

He looked at me, confused. Those damn eyes of his that made me always catch my breath. The same ones that he was so obnoxiously famous for. I hated to love those eyes. They were wide and so hopeful as if I was going to save him or something. As if I had all the answers. I'd been fooling myself. All these months, thinking that I needed to hide my feelings, I'd been an idiot. Why was I acting like a stupid Gryffindor? I should have just come right out and told him that I wanted him, then maybe, then maybe he'd know my secret, and he'd be okay with it. Then maybe he would have been divorced already. Then maybe, he would actually, truly, be mine as I was his.

I stood up off the sofa and grabbed my wand. "Come with me," I said and walked away. I heard his feet shuffling and a moment later, his hands were on my waist and he was following me. I assumed he thought we were going to the bedroom. He was, of course, wrong.

I removed the Disillusionment Charm off the darkroom and opened the door.

I heard Potter gasp behind me, but I didn't turn to look at him. I walked in and expected him to follow. My darkroom, was my sanctuary, my place of hiding, my Room of Requirement of sorts. It was mine and mine alone and just the mere thought of bringing someone in here was horrifying. The fact that it was Potter, was nerve wracking. I knew, there was no going back.

I closed the door behind us and we stood in perfect darkness. He reached out to grab my hand and I smiled. I squeezed his hand and brought it to my lips, gently grazing them against his fingers. I could feel like he was starting to say something so I cast a Lighting Charm. When I saw his face, he was looking right at me.

Having him there, where I stored my memories of him was surreal. He looked away from me and towards the rest of the room. Strings connected from one wall to another, moving pictures hanging side by side, drying, some scattered on the counters, he could see it. Him laughing; lounging on a chair; smiling with the kids; shying away, his face blushing. He could see what I was hiding. My obsession.

Him.

"These are all..." he said before he let go of my hand and walked deeper into the room.

He picked up one of the pictures off the counter, "This one—"

"From the first event, three years ago. When baby Fred was born," I said.

"This one is just the side of my face..." He looked up at me confused after pointing one of the latest ones that were hanging on the string.

"Your jaw twitches rather peculiarly when you're being nervous about something. I like the angle..." I traced my index finger against his jaw line of his face, his actual face that I was actually able to touch now. Allowed to touch...

"These are _all_ ... me."

Nice of him to observe. I resisted rolling my eyes. "Well, the ones I take for professional purposes get sent to the editor and the reporter," I answered.

"You're..." he paused, as if he was looking for the right word again. Whatever happened to the man that just blurted out how he felt without any worries or any consequences?

"I think the word you're looking for is obsessed, Potter."

"Hey, that's from Leaky when we first—you took a picture of me while I destroyed that man's camera?" He laughed in disbelief, and I released a breath of relief.

"This camera," I said and walked across the room to grab the equipment. "I was saving it to give it to you for your birthday. It's a souvenir I suppose, from our first date...or at least it was in my head." I _was_ always a bit delusional.

"That's bloody brilliant."

That was one word for it. "It's bloody insane."

"Well. Yeah. Join the club," he said and reached for my hand again. "I can't believe this. I...I thought you hated me."

"There's really a thin line between love and hate. Like I said, everything between us—"

"Is a two way street." He smiled at me and before I knew it, I was being pushed against one of the counters with his lips on mine, his hands on my hips, his body pressing into me.

And we kissed. And we kissed. And kissed. Again. It was better than the last time. It was better than I'd dreamed of when I'd been here, in the darkroom, wondering what it would be like to be here with him.

He was like air to me, deliberate, and necessary. And if I could ever be that lucky, to be that for him, _unnoticed_ , but necessary, for a moment only.

I was. I was that lucky.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

* * *

Ginny and I filed for divorce a week after we'd told the family. It wasn't long after when the gossip columns filled everywhere with news of her and Cormac. I, of course, was reported as "heartbroken" and living in shame. Draco was much better at public deception. It was either that or he probably had dirt on every gossip columnist around, and they were too scared that their risqué pictures might show up in _The Oracle_.

Staying in secret proved to be more difficult when I'd moved into Draco's flat.

The first night we'd been together, he'd dragged me to his darkroom and went down on me while I watched moving pictures of myself. While I watched myself through his eyes.

I'd managed to put the camera he'd given me as an early birthday present to good use. Pictures of him sleeping, coming out of the shower in a towel, or reading on the sofa also replaced some of mine in the darkroom. So when he fucked me there, I wasn't always looking at myself. I liked watching him while he was on his knees. He'd claimed it made me come harder.

That was another obsession of his. Doing it _everywhere_. Can't say that I complained, though. I had years of catching up to do, and there was no better partner I could have asked for.

After a year, I finally managed to get Draco to start working on his book. He'd always talked about wanting to be the Cartier-Bresson of the wizarding world. It still amazed me at how _knowledgeable_ Draco was of Muggle photography and photojournalism. Every day I found myself learning something new from him.

Every day I found myself falling in love even more. Okay, maybe not every day because _he was_ kind of annoying yesterday.

Another year later, when Draco had settled into his routine of being a part-time photojournalist, part-time author, and worked on tweaking his camera inventions, we bought our first house together and adopted our first baby girl.

When we'd first met, _again_ after the war, I didn't even know he wanted kids.

I couldn't believe that I'd been so lucky.

* * *

 _ **THE END**_


End file.
